


Mutual Attraction

by youcouldmakealife



Series: Follow the North Star [13]
Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-21 11:00:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10683921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youcouldmakealife/pseuds/youcouldmakealife
Summary: “I know you had, like,” Roman starts, forces his way through when the words start getting harder and harder to say. “Feelings, for me. I don’t know if you still do, or—”“Yeah,” Connie says, voice small. He looks completely miserable, and Roman puts a hand on his wrist, squeezes gently.





	Mutual Attraction

Roman doesn’t know if he’s nervous or excited right now. That’s certainly not an unfamiliar feeling, precedes big games and overtakes everything during playoffs, but it’s not one he’s faced much outside of the context of hockey. It’s not pleasant, but it’s not unpleasant either. Some guys get in their own heads before those kinds of games, either talking themselves through it or letting the nerves eat them up, but for Roman it’s the opposite, everything suddenly in sharp contrast, Roman so much more aware than usual, noticing things he usually wouldn’t.

Today his attention’s focused like a laser on Connie, not surprisingly. He had to do his best not to stare at him through the entire flight home like a creeper, eyes always getting drawn back, catching on the smallest little things. The curve of his ear and the hair he tucks behind it constantly because the strands are too short to stay in place. How sharp his jaw is, the traces of baby face that still clung to him a little last season melted away everywhere but his cheeks, which are softer than the rest of him. How long his neck is, like everything else about him, but if last year he looked like a kid something stretched to 6’5”, now it’s all in proportion, everything in perfect place.

_Cheesy_ , Roman scolds himself, but it doesn’t have much of an effect. 

Roman is one of the first off the plane. “S’your hurry?” Patty mumbles, barely looking half awake, when Roman tries to move past him, a difficult task considering the size of the aisles and the combined size of the two of them. Harry, beside him, throws him a narrow-eyed look.

“Got something to do,” Roman says, and when Connie comes out Roman’s waiting, feels like he’s practically vibrating with impatience. Connie’s thankfully not tangled up in conversation with anyone, has the same sleepy-eyed look that Patty sported, though Roman has to say it looks better on him, soft instead of bleary. 

Roman grasps his elbow, and Connie shoots him a smile, reflexive and sweet. 

“Hey, Sweetheart, can we talk for a minute?” Roman asks.

“Of course,” Connie says. “What’s up?”

“Not here,” Roman says, does a quick mental checklist. Airport’s too public, same with any restaurants around. His place is too far and not exactly neutral, Connie’s the same distance and an even worse idea, because he’s not the kind of person who’d be willing to speak up and ask someone to leave, even if he wanted them to. Roman’s not expecting that, but it’d be stupid not to think it’s a possibility, and he doesn’t want to put Connie in an awkward position. “Come to my car?”

“Okay,” Connie says, and follows him to the long-term parking lot, looking like he wants to ask but he’ll wait until Roman’s ready to speak, because he’s so sweet it’s physically painful sometimes. In the meantime they talk about their last game, the surefire way to avoid awkward silences with teammates, though Roman doesn’t generally encounter too many of those, and none have ever preceded what he’s planning, so this is definitely new. That mix of excitement and nerves is building to the point where it’s almost choking him, and when they get to Roman’s car he’s half-tempted to say he forgot or just ask Connie to grab lunch with him somewhere noisy he can’t say anything, or make up something inconsequential.

Connie gets into the passenger seat without complaint when Roman gets in the car, gives him this little quirk of the head. “What did you want to talk about?” he asks, and Roman’s nerves must be visible, because he frowns a little. “Is something wrong?”

“Not wrong?” Roman says. “Just.” 

“Just what?” Connie prompts, when Roman doesn’t continue.

“Fuck, this is harder than I thought,” Roman says, huffing out a humorless laugh, and Connie looks genuinely concerned now, which is the opposite of what he wants, so he’s just going to force himself to barrel through.

“I know we haven’t really talked about like, the elephant in the room,” Roman says.

Connie looks down then, hands twisting in his lap. He looks even more uncomfortable than Roman feels, which is pretty damn uncomfortable, because it’s one thing to practice what he’s going to say in his head and it’s a whole other thing to actually manage to speak it. Roman’s romantic history generally involves a little more alcohol as a social lubricant, a little more casual sex and hanging out than anything as fucking difficult as _feelings_. Roman doesn’t know about Connie’s romantic history, but he’s pretty sure the drunk hook-up isn’t his norm, or anything casual and breezy, so if he wants something he has to use his damn words like an adult, even if right now he feels as much like a scared kid as Connie looks.

“I know you had, like,” Roman starts, forces his way through when the words start getting harder and harder to say. “Feelings, for me. I don’t know if you still do, or—”

“Yeah,” Connie says, voice small. He looks completely miserable, and Roman puts a hand on his wrist, squeezes gently.

“Can you look at me?” Roman asks, and Connie does with reluctance Roman doesn’t think he’s imagining. He looks at Roman more like Roman’s rejecting him than anything else, and running back through what he said, that’s not actually surprising. Roman’s fault for being too chickenshit to say anything about how he felt before making Connie say it first.

This part Roman practiced a lot, the part where he says ‘it’s mutual’, but Connie looks so dejected that Roman can’t drag it out. He kisses Connie instead, because it’d be basically impossible to misconstrue that one. Connie’s mouth is slack and surprised against his for a moment before he’s kissing him back, hand coming up to cup Roman’s cheek, mouth so sweet against his, literally, like he was sneaking candy on the plane, all the sweeter when his tongue’s sliding against Roman’s, pulse pounding under the grip Roman still has on his wrist. 

Connie pulls back after a minute, flushed and pink and so pretty it’s all Roman can do not to chase his mouth, feels like he’s already addicted, that he didn’t think this location through, because if they’re going to do anything else — Roman had plans to take it slow but whatever Connie wants he wants — Roman’s going to have to somehow get his shit together enough to drive with Connie sweet and pretty and so tempting, because making out in his car is a _terrible_ idea.

“Um,” Connie says, and Roman barely hears him, eyes on his mouth. “I have to go.” 

“Wait—” he says, when it sinks in, but Connie’s already out the door.

It takes Roman awhile to get it together enough to feel like it’s a good idea to drive home, spends that time looking out the windshield and alternately berating himself for not following Connie and for kissing him at all. Roman thought feelings implied, well, _feelings_ , but for all he knows Connie just enjoyed the feeling of liking someone without actually wanting to follow through with it. That Roman was safe for that because he didn’t think Roman would reciprocate. That Roman was good enough to look at, but not worth the trouble. He doesn’t know. There’s no way of knowing without talking to Connie, but Roman’s not really sure how he’s supposed to deal with that, because Connie turned tail and ran, so who fucking knows how he’d take Roman wanting to talk. Not that Roman wants that either, right now, feeling humiliated and more hurt than he thought he would.

“You fucked that right up, Novák,” Roman mumbles to himself, knocking his head against the headrest a few times before steeling himself for a drive home that ends up feeling longer than any he’s done before.


End file.
